


Red Star Massage Parlor

by diner_drama



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Massage, Sex Worker Bucky Barnes, in every sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23116522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diner_drama/pseuds/diner_drama
Summary: Bucky stepped around the table and Steve heard the tell-tale sound of oil squirting onto his hands before he was smoothing his palms down Steve's side. His fingers traced around the outline of Steve's shoulder blade, pressing deeper and deeper with each circuit, teasing out a great ball of tension from the muscle. The pressure became stronger, until Bucky was pressing with his elbow and forearm, deeply massaging the muscle with each stroke. After ten or so strokes, Bucky hit just the right spot and something in Steve both screamed out in pain and relaxed from a tension he didn't know he was holding."Hng," said Steve articulately.Bucky kept rubbing gentle circles in the skin over where his elbow had pressed. "Did that hurt?""God, yes," panted Steve. "Do it again."
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 23
Kudos: 444





	Red Star Massage Parlor

Steve was just getting into another enormous stack of mission reports when Sam walked into their apartment and flopped bonelessly onto a recliner.

"What's wrong with you?" said Steve absently, frowning at Natasha's chicken-scratch handwriting.

"Nothing at all," breathed Sam, sounding relaxed and infuriatingly satisfied. "I just had the best damn massage of my entire life, period."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Period?"

"Period. It was that place Tony's always talking about."

"The incredibly shady Russian massage parlor that's probably run by the mafia?"

"That's the one," said Sam, contentedly wriggling deeper into his chair. "The guy offered me a little something extra at the end, and I don't even go that way and I was tempted."

Steve dropped his pen, his 1940s sensibilities flaring up unexpectedly. "You got a massage at a _brothel_?"

"Guess so. There's ladies as well, but I haven't been working out much lately and I didn't want to go in there without my A-game."

"I think if you're paying them they'll do it no matter how muscular you are."

"You should go!" enthused Sam, ignoring his snarky comment. "Positive touch and all that stuff. It'd be good for you to unwind, take some time for yourself."

"Get myself a therapist-mandated happy ending, huh?" said Steve drily, turning back to his work. "I don't think my HMO would cover it."

"You deserve to have a life outside of work, Steve. When was the last time you even dated someone?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Steve sighed. "I'll think about it, OK?"

* * *

Steve did think about it. Quite a lot, actually - and if his PornHub queue ended up with a lot of videos of big, muscular guys getting taken apart by forceful twinks on a massage table, that was pure coincidence and nothing more.

A few weeks later, after a grueling mission in Paraguay which left him bloodied, sore and exhausted, he finally asked Sam to give him the number of the place.

"Hello, Red Star Massage parlor," said a friendly voice on the other end of the phone after two rings.

"Uh, hi. Hello. I'd like to make an appointment? My friend recommended the place to me, he said you were..." Steve tailed off with a cough. "Discreet."

"Absolutely. We respect and value the privacy and safety of our clients above all else. Was there a particular therapist you had in mind?"

"A guy called Barnes?"

"Sure thing. He's got some slots free the day after tomorrow. Does 4 PM work for you?"

"Yes, uh, yeah. That's fine." Why was he blushing? He was alone in the room for God's sake.

"Can I take a name?"

"It's Steve," he said without thinking, and then winced. A fake name probably would have been a good idea.

"Great, that's all booked in for you, Steve. We look forward to seeing you then."

As he hung up the phone, Steve had to take a number of deep breaths and remind himself that sex work was a legitimate profession and that he was _allowed to have things_.

* * *

His usual camouflage of aviator sunglasses and a peaked cap seemed somehow insufficient when patronizing a house of ill-repute, but Natasha wouldn't let him borrow the face modulator and he couldn't find a trench coat big enough to fit over his stupid shoulders, so it would simply have to do for the time being.

The massage parlor's entrance was a nondescript doorway on a residential street, a red star by the buzzer the only sign of what lay inside. He was half-expecting neon signs of ladies taking their clothes off and an interior entirely composed of suspiciously sticky crushed velvet, but what he encountered when he was buzzed in to the building looked like nothing more than the kind of upmarket spa that Natasha sometimes dragged him to.

"Hello," beamed the receptionist, who was a friendly-looking young woman, reassuringly dressed in a sensible smock. "Do you have an appointment with us today?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice rough. He cleared his throat. "It should be under Steve?"

"Ah, yes, 4 PM with Bucky. Take a seat right over there and he'll be right with you."

He folded himself onto one of the little couches, and poured out a glass of cucumber water from a pitcher just to have something to do with his hands. The room was softly lit, with pale exposed wood furniture and tasteful photographs on the wall of backs being massaged (in case you forgot why you were here?)

"You must be Steve," said a low, pleasant voice. A hand came into his field of vision and Steve shook it automatically, before his eyes tracked upwards along a neatly muscled arm and up to the man's face.

Steve's heart sank to his boots. Oh no. His massage therapist was _beautiful_.

"I'm Bucky," he continued brightly, as though he wasn't ruining Steve's entire life just by existing near him. "Come on through to the treatment room and we can have a chat before we get started."

"Sure," said Steve, standing up and lumbering after Bucky like a baby bear. The treatment room was decorated in the same style as the lobby, and Steve would have taken a moment to appreciate it if he wasn't busy gaping at Bucky like a beached catfish. This guy had to have walked straight out of Steve's fantasies - those full, soft lips, the way his white t-shirt had just enough of a v-neck to show his chest hair, the insouciant way his short, brown hair was styled. And he was about to cover Steve in oil and rub his sore muscles and maybe even-

"So, Steve," said Bucky, interrupting Steve's freak-out by closing the door and sitting down opposite him. "We're just going to go through a few preliminary questions before we get started."

"Sure," said Steve hoarsely, finding his voice.

"I've got you down for a full body massage today. Are there any parts of your body you don't want me to touch, or any parts you want me to pay particular attention to?"

_My dick, Bucky. I want you to pay particular attention to my dick. Possibly forever._

"Uh, my shoulders get a little tight sometimes, I guess?" said Steve instead, in a voice that was suspiciously higher pitched than normal. "I don't think there's any part of me I don't want you to touch." Why, why, why did he say that. Why.

"Good to know," replied Bucky with an almost imperceptible smirk. "Do you have any medical conditions I need to be aware of?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Great. Now, listen," he continued, leaning closer, his legs spread open and inviting. "You're aware that this is a full-service massage parlor?"

Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat and coughed, turning a spectacular shade of vermilion. "Uh, yes, my, uh, my friend told me."

"Now, I'm a fully trained massage therapist, and if that is all you want, that's completely fine, but if you're interested, I can offer you full release. Is that something you think you'd like?" 

_Is that something I'd like?_ thought Steve, a little hysterically. Bucky was chewing on his bottom lip and looking completely edible. The silence stretched out for aeons as Steve wrestled with himself, the thing he wanted battling against what he thought he _should_ be doing. For the first time this century, the thing he wanted won.

"I think so," said Steve quietly, almost a whisper, then shook himself a little and made up his mind. "Yes," he said, more decisively, sitting up straighter. 

Bucky's smile widened. "I'm going to make you feel real good, Steve," he promised, his voice lowering to a purr, caressing Steve's name as he said it. 

It was far too early in proceedings for Steve to be feeling this aroused. He took a sip of his cucumber water to cool himself off.

"How do you feel about manual stimulation?" asked Bucky nonchalantly, making Steve inhale his drink.

"Good," coughed Steve. "Good, I- yes. Please." So polite. His ma would be so proud.

"Penetration?"

The whispered " _God_ , yes," slipped out of him before he'd really thought about it, but he didn't regret it when he saw the way it made Bucky's eyes darken.

"Toys?"

Steve took a minute to give this question some thought, chewing his own lip, then shook his head. "I think- just, just you."

"Great," said Bucky, standing up. "I'm gonna head out of the room for a minute to pick up a couple things. You undress completely and lie down on your front, and when I come back, I'll knock on the door, OK?"

Steve nodded, not trusting his own voice.

Before leaving the room, Bucky lowered the lights to a warm glow and turned on some music, a relaxing soundscape of quiet piano, and a rustling sound like leaves stirred by the wind. He slipped out the door with a wink that improbably made Steve blush even further.

Steve took a couple of deep breaths and began to take off his clothes, folding them neatly on the chair. When he got down to his underwear, he hesitated for a moment before peeling off the shorts, then walked over to the table and lay down on his front on the warm surface, laying a towel lightly over his hips and resting his head into the weird little face hole.

For the first time in several years, Steve took the decision to consciously relax. He un-tensed each muscle, one by one, letting his body sink into the table, softening bit by bit. He was concentrating on his breathing, taking a slow deep inhale, holding it, then releasing it gradually.

"Steve?" said Bucky's voice from outside the door, accompanied by a soft knock. "Ready for me?"

"Yes," said Steve, lifting his head. Bucky hadn't gotten any less pretty in the intervening few minutes that they'd been separated, and he was clutching an industrial-sized tub of massage oil.

"Thought I might need some extra in reserve for all those muscles," smirked Bucky, closing the door with his hip. 

"Boy scout, huh?" laughed Steve, resting his head back down.

"That's me - wholesome, all-American boy," murmured Bucky, setting down the tub and rubbing his hands together. "I'm gonna start with your back. If I do anything you don't like, anything at all, I want you to tell me, OK?"

"OK."

There was a slick sound, then Bucky's warm hands were smoothing over the length of his spine, spreading oil in their wake and heating his skin. Steve had to employ superhuman self control to avoid letting out a little whimper at the first contact. 

"How hard do you like it? The pressure I mean," said Bucky, apparently continuing his vendetta against Steve's composure.

"Uh, hard," breathed Steve. "I mean, firm?"

"I can do firm," said Bucky, a smile in his voice. Oh, he knew precisely what he was doing.

Bucky's hands glided up and down Steve's back, his thumbs pressing firm lines either side of his spine. He rubbed little circles in the skin, easing out tension from the muscles, smoothing out the knots that Steve hadn't realized were there. Bucky was standing at the head of the table, so Steve could see just the toes of his shoes. As he leaned over to massage the base of Steve's spine, Steve could feel the heat radiating from his chest, and he sucked in a breath.

Time stretched as Steve sank into the table, the pressure on his skin sending him into a daze, floating on a honeyed sea, his thoughts sticky-slow and sweet. 

Bucky stepped around the table and Steve heard the tell-tale sound of oil squirting onto his hands before he was smoothing his palms down Steve's side. His fingers traced around the outline of Steve's shoulder blade, pressing deeper and deeper with each circuit, teasing out a great ball of tension from the muscle. The pressure became stronger, until Bucky was pressing with his elbow and forearm, deeply massaging the muscle with each stroke. After ten or so strokes, Bucky hit just the right spot and something in Steve both screamed out in pain and relaxed from a tension he didn't know he was holding.

"Hng," said Steve articulately.

Bucky kept rubbing gentle circles in the skin over where his elbow had pressed. "Did that hurt?"

"God, yes," panted Steve. "Do it again."

He couldn't see Bucky smiling but there was a predatory feralness in the way he laughed that was very promising, and he carried on with his merciless assault on the misbehaving muscle, pulling out grunts and moans and outright yelps from Steve.

By the time he had finished with that spot, Steve's shoulder felt looser than it had since before the second world war and he was about halfway towards proposing marriage or giving Bucky all of his life savings.

"You liked that, huh, tough guy?" said Bucky softly, a teasing lilt to his voice as he re-oiled his hands and began to rub and pinch at Steve's upper trapezius. "Gotta stop carrying the weight of the world on these shoulders."

"S'feeling lighter already," slurred Steve, on cloud nine and completely pliant in Bucky's hands.

The other side of his body got exactly the same treatment, right down to the vicious and intoxicating pleasure Bucky was clearly taking in breaking Steve down into an incoherent puddle of relaxation. 

Bucky's hands smoothed over the back of his neck, next, carding through the short hair at the base of his skull, stroking the nape of his neck. As well as the relief from the tension draining out of his overworked muscles, Steve was feeling something new, something precious and warm. Being touched so carefully, so deliberately was making him feel special, worthy. Cherished.

The arms were next, Bucky's skilled hands soothing over his biceps, down his forearms, his wrists, his palms, lingering over each finger. Then, the soles of his feet, digging his thumbs right into the arch and making Steve whine, in what he hoped was a manly way. By the time he'd finished pummeling his feet Steve felt as though he'd never marched a day in his life. His calves, tight with overuse, were similarly beaten into submission until the stiff tendons slackened into easy comfort. 

Bucky lingered over his thighs, the heels of his hands scoring lines up and down either side of his leg, pressing into the firm flesh with a slick, comforting surety. Little circles were rubbed into his skin from above his knee all the way to the crease at the top of his thigh. 

"I'm going to massage your ass now, OK?" said Bucky in a low voice, thumbing the edge of Steve's modesty towel.

"Yes please," breathed Steve, relaxing further into the table.

On removing the towel, Bucky let out a low whistle. Steve giggled into the headrest like an idiot.

"Like what you see?"

"Buddy, I have worked with a lot of asses in my time and I gotta say, this is a highlight."

"Well, it sure is nice to hear that from a professional."

Bucky's sure hands were back on his skin, rubbing rings around his hipbones and pressing into the meat of his ass cheeks, soothing away the tension in the muscles. The smoothly oiled glide of his fingers over sensitive flesh was making Steve want to grind his hips into the table, helpless with pleasure, and he couldn't stop himself from moaning aloud. Bucky's thumbs parted his cheeks and lightly passed over his hole, over and over, leaving a slick sheen of oil behind them, teasing without enough pressure to quite penetrate. Steve was panting, gasping against the table, wriggling and pressing himself against Bucky's hands, searching for more stimulation. With one lingering press to Steve's perineum, which had him let out a strangled sound that may or may not have been some form of the word "Bucky", he picked up the towel again and laid it back over Steve's ass. Steve raised his head to look up at his face, puzzled.

"Turn over, Stevie," said Bucky, the smirk on his soft lips belying the way his voice sounded utterly wrecked and his pupils were blown as wide as saucers.

Steve felt himself blushing, ridiculously, at the idea that the man who had just been enthusiastically oiling his asshole was about to find out that he had an erection. Disabusing himself of this strange modesty, he rolled onto his back, letting the little towel fall back over his lap to make an absurd tent over his turgid cock.

Bucky, the asshole, didn't even raise an eyebrow at the circus situation in the vicinity of Steve's nethers, and instead carried on massaging Steve's legs, down the front of his calves, up around his kneecaps, along the tops of his quads. In no time at all, the urgency of Steve's arousal took a backseat to the pleasure of the knots in his muscles being soothed away.

His erection did not get the memo, however, and carried on standing up like the patriotic little flagpole it was.

Being able to watch Bucky working was as erotic as it was spellbinding, the sheer competence in his clever fingers as he teased out the tension from Steve's body, the intensity in his blue-gray eyes as he went about his task, the solid, beautiful physical presence of him in the room, all of his attention focused on Steve. It was enough to turn any fella's head.

Once he had finished with Steve's tree-trunk thighs, instead of lifting up the entirely ineffective modesty towel and working his way upwards, he walked to the head of the table and ran his hands over Steve's chest. Steve peered up at him through a haze of his own arousal and enjoyment, basking in the upside-down sight of Bucky's crooked smile as he spread a glistening sheen of oil over the front of Steve's shoulders, over the swell of his pecs. When he reached Steve's nipples, he pinched each of them in turn, watching Steve's face carefully to gauge his reaction, and increased the pressure when he gasped and moaned, twisting on the table to push his chest up into Bucky's hands. Bucky lightened the pressure and brushed just the pads of his thumbs over Steve's achingly hard nipples, making him hiss and throw his head back, breathing in Bucky's warm and wholesome scent.

His fingertips trailed over Steve's collar bones, his exposed throat, up the column of his neck, over his lips. Steve parted his lips without really thinking and sucked Bucky's finger into his mouth, reveling in the taste of clean skin under the neutral massage oil.

"You're so hungry for this, sweetheart," murmured Bucky, drifting his fingertips down Steve's jaw. "Ready for me to make you feel good?"

Steve, helplessly overwhelmed by sensation and want, could only nod. Bucky's grin turned sharp and predatory, and he stepped around the table to disrobe Steve's erect cock, dropping the towel onto the floor behind him. With a slick noise, he pumped some extra oil into his cupped hands, warming it between his palms before beginning to apply it in feather-light strokes to the length of Steve's shaft. He dipped a thumb into the sheen of pre-come beading at the top, spreading it around the head appreciatively before continuing his teasing attentions to Steve's length, fingers ghosting gently along the velvet-soft skin.

Steve was whimpering, squirming into Bucky's touch, lips slack and open, pupils wide as he watched Bucky's hand drift lower, sweeping across the crease of his thigh and down to circle one finger over his hole, while the other hand loosely circled the base of his cock and began to stroke slowly upwards.

"Look at yourself, Steve," breathed Bucky, enraptured. "Look at this pretty dick, feels so good in my hand."

"Bucky," gasped Steve as Bucky's skilled hand squeezed his cock, his fingers forming a circle and letting the head push through. One slick finger breached Steve's hole and he let out a punched-out noise, incoherent with pleasure. It was quickly followed by a second and soon both fingertips were pressing firmly against Steve's prostate, while Bucky's thumb pressed on his perineum from the outside, his other hand still milking Steve's cock.

Steve felt as though he were on the precipice of an orgasm for an eternity, the pleasure always seeming like it was about to peak but only growing. The only noises out of his mouth were little whimpers and gasps, the intensity of Bucky's gaze almost as exciting as his touch. When he finally hurtled into his climax, it seemed to last for an age, a flood of sensation that spread as far as the soles of his feet and the top of his head. Bucky kept stroking him through it, whispering words of encouragement as he wrung out every drop of pleasure, until Steve felt completely emptied out and brand new.

"Kiss me," he moaned, half out of his mind and limp with relief.

"That's against our guidelines," said Bucky, not meeting his eye as he wiped his hands off on a towel.

"Sorry," replied Steve, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Sorry, that was completely inappropriate, I wouldn't want to make you uncomf-"

He was cut off as Bucky cupped his cheek, resolve audibly shattering, and kissed him fervently, possessively, tongue taking ownership of his mouth as firmly as his hands had taken control of his body.

"I want you so much," whispered Steve as they broke apart, then kissed him again.

Bucky drew back to rub their noses together and make intense eye contact. "Take me home," he murmured.

"Yeah?" said Steve, not quite daring to believe his luck. What did he ever do to deserve this beautiful creature in his bed? He couldn't wait to undress Bucky slowly, to explore his body, to draw out his gasps and sighs of pleasure.

"Yeah," said Bucky, smiling softly. "Let's just get you cleaned up and back into your clothes, so I can get you out of them and mess you up again."

"Yes please," breathed Steve. Bucky kissed him again and then turned to pick up a towel and run it under the warm tap.

Steve was struck with a sudden thought. "Ah, if you want to come home with me, I should probably tell you, I'm, uh," he said uncomfortably, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm Captain America."

Bucky paused at the sink, facing away from him, for long enough for Steve to begin to worry, before he noticed that his shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Thank you, Steven," he said flatly, turning around and crossing his arms. "I needed you to tell me that because I've never gone outside or watched the news."

"Hey, I can't expect everyone to recognize me just by looking at my ass."

"I never forget an ass," murmured Bucky, tenderly wiping the mess off of Steve's abs. 

"Sweetheart," purred Steve, pulling him closer, "if the rest of this evening goes as planned, you're not going to remember your own name once I'm finished with you."

Bucky grinned and tangled his fingers in Steve's hair. "I'll hold you to that," he whispered, and leaned in for a kiss.

* * *

Sam was stacking chairs at the VA and waving farewell to the last few stragglers from his group, when his phone lit up with a text message.

 **Steve:** Thanks for recommending that massage place. Maybe don't come home tonight?

"I walked right into that one," chuckled Sam, putting his phone away and shaking his head. 


End file.
